The main road from the Angkor airport also leads to the temples, and massive hotels sprouted amid what was once jungle. The splendor of some of these establishments was dizzying (in any country in the world, they would be regarded as five-star hotels). Gleaming structures were surrounded by lavishly designed and softly lit landscaping. Towering palms and lush ferns bordered winding entry roads; flowers sprouted everywhere the eye could see. Half a dozen hotels boasted rooms that cost more than the average Cambodian earned in a year; some had health and beauty spas, and all had upscale restaurants that required jackets.

All this, while on the road out front people rode bicycles or scooters.

At our hotel, we were informed that an excursion to Angkor Wat was planned at sunrise. Most people, including Micah, opted out. It was the first and only time on the entire trip that Micah and I weren't together to see a sight. And aside from only a few moments here and there, it was the first time we hadn't been together in nearly two weeks.

On the bus ride over, I was asked by one of the members of our tour group how we were getting along.

"Fine," I said. "Micah's easy to travel with."

"Doesn't it bother you? I mean, that you're with him all the time?"

I thought about it, finally realizing how odd it must have seemed. "Actually, it doesn't. We always seem to want to do the same thing-I guess we're just in sync."

"That's amazing," he said, shaking his head. "You guys get along better than most husbands and wives. If you watch closely, you can tell that some couples are already starting to get a little tired of each other."

I was anxious to see Angkor Wat. The structure itself-square with a towering temple-mountain in the center, three concentric quadrangular enclosures, and surrounding walls approximately 275 yards in length, all surrounded by a giant moat-is reached via a long causeway, and we made our way toward the outer walls. Just beyond them, our guide told us to stop. In the darkness, we could see nothing at all.

In time, the sky behind the temple began glowing red, then fanned out in vivid orange, then finally yellow. Against the changing sky, the temple was outlined by shadows, the features invisible. Yet I couldn't look away. Even from a distance and despite reading about it, the size of Angkor Wat nonetheless gave me pause. Had it been built recently, it would be considered massive. When it was built eight hundred years ago, it must have defied comprehension.

We stayed long enough to watch the sky turn from yellow to blue, and then climbed back onto the bus. As we drove, the countryside of Angkor began springing to life. The roads became crowded with scooters, zipping nimbly around the lumbering bus. There seemed to be no driving regulations; people drove on either side, wove in and out of traffic, and veered at the last second, but somehow it seemed to work.

The scooter riders were, in their own way, as impressive as Angkor Wat. We learned that most of the scooters had been manufactured in China and cost around six hundred dollars. No bigger than a moped, they were Cambodia's version of a Chevy Suburban.

"There's four people on that scooter!" one person said, and everyone on the bus would pile toward the window to see it.

"Over here, there's five!" another would shout, and we'd all move to the windows on the other side of the bus.

"I see six!"

"No way!

"Back there! Look!"

We did. I blinked at the sight of a scooter with six people on it; it was moving slowly, but moving nonetheless, veering like everyone else.

"You're not going to believe this," someone finally said. "Up ahead of us. Take a look."

"What?"

He pointed. "I count seven on that one."

And there were. A man was seated in the middle; on the scooter were what seemed to be his kids. Two little girls were seated behind the father, three more little kids were in front of him.

And riding on his shoulders was his son, the youngest of the bunch, a child who looked to be about five. All were dressed in uniforms; it seemed obvious that dad was bringing the kids to school.

While we continued on toward the hotel, everyone on the bus looked unsuccessfully for a scooter carrying eight people. As if, in this remarkable environment, seven weren't enough.

Because of the heat and humidity in Cambodia, our day was divided into two segments. In the morning, we'd visit the other temples and sights-Ta Prohm, the Bayon, and the Elephant Terrace.

After lunch, we'd spend a few hours at the hotel. Later in the afternoon, we'd visit Angkor Wat.

Our first stop was Ta Prohm, and despite the grandiosity of Angkor Wat, it would be our favorite temple to visit. It wasn't large and lay pretty much in ruins, but the jungle growth intrigued us. Shrouded in shade, the giant roots of strangler figs and silk cotton wove around doorways and crept over walls as if the roots had been poured from the trunk. It seemed as if the jungle was in the act of devouring the temple, as it had once swallowed all the others.

The roots were unstoppable. Though the giant ones caught our attention first, closer inspection revealed the finer roots forcing their way between blocks; in time, the block would eventually be loosened. In a couple of decades, those blocks would be found on the ground with the countless others that were piled around us.

The temple, though in a terrible state of disrepair, had somehow maintained its original shape.

Like all of the temples we would see, it had four concentric square walls (actually tunnels) surrounding a temple-mountain, and we gradually wove our way through the ruins toward the center. Unlike so many of the sites we'd visited, as soon as we rounded the corner, it was easy to lose sight of the others in our group.

"This is great!" Micah said.

"It's amazing, isn't it?"

"It reminds me of the Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom ride at Disneyland."

"You're such a crass American," I complained.

"Don't you think it does? Or, it could be a movie set. Like someone had imagined what a ruined temple looked like, then built it. It looks too real to be real." "Too real to be real?"

"Exactly," he nodded. "Like someone planned it."

Forty minutes later, we were back on the bus; our next stop was the Bayon. There the jungle had been cut back and we made our way through the ruins. Unlike the heat in Australia, the heat in Angkor was intensified by the humidity. Mosquitoes were prevalent, and we slathered on the bug spray.

The Bayon was unremarkable when compared to Ta Prohm. It had the same configuration as the others, though we did see our first examples of the relief carvings for which the temples are famous. In the sandstone, we could make out various images, each of which came with a story.

The stories, however, were hard to follow. Of all the languages in the countries we visited, Cambodian seemed most foreign. The linguistic sounds were so different that simple words were incomprehensible. Thus, whenever the guides spoke, even in English, we had to sift through heavy accents and long pauses as our Cambodian guides stumbled over words. It was not only hard for us to understand what they were saying, but they had an equally difficult time understanding us.

"Why do they call them relief carvings instead of just carvings?" Micah asked.

"These ... uh ... are ... uh ... relief carvings," our guide answered with an accommodating smile.

"But why relief?"

"See?" he said, pointing to the wall. "Relief carvings." He enunciated the word carefully.

"Relief."

"Ah," Micah said, knowing he wasn't getting through. "Thanks anyway."

The guide bowed. "I'm welcome."

The sun was directly overhead and beating down hard when we finally arrived at the Elephant Terrace. We were told the rulers used to sit atop the wall-essentially a long, thick wall with elephants carved on it-to watch performances on the plaza out front.

"What kinds of performances?" Micah asked.

"Like the ... uh ... uh ..."

"Play?"

"No ... the uh ..."

"Circus?" Micah offered.

"Yes, the circus. With the swingers on the ... uh ..." The guide waved his hand, mimicking the word he was looking for.

"Trapeze?"

"Yes. Trapeze. And there were women ... uh ..." The guide moved a little, swinging his hips to the side.

"Dancers?"

"Yes, dancers. And ... uh ... uh ..."

"Elephants?" Micah suggested.

"No, no elephants."

The three-hour break once we were back at the hotel was welcome. Both Micah and I worked out, ate, and napped before heading off to Angkor Wat. By then, we'd been told repeatedly that our two hours there wouldn't be nearly long enough to fully appreciate it.

In a way, we learned, they were right, simply because of its size and scope. And yet, unless you were well versed in the stories about the Hindu god Vishnu and had the patience to learn how those stories had been interpreted into pictures, two hours was more than enough. One of the TCS lecturers on the trip was absolutely fascinated by-and had studied intensively-the relief carvings of Angkor Wat. After making our way over the causeway to the main walls surrounding the temple, he grew giddy with excitement. As we stared and photographed portions of the carvings-and they were amazingly detailed, I have to admit-our lecturer would stop every few steps and point to the various sections of the wall, describing it in even further detail, his voice resounding with enthusiasm. To be honest, it only confused us.

"Now this," he might say, "is where Vishnu crosses the river. Look where he's standing. See the temple in the foreground?"

We'd squint, searching for the temple and finding it, thinking, so far, so good. Then, unfortunately, the lecturer would go on.

"As you probably know, the temple behind him represents the cosmos as centered on Mount Meru-in other words, it's the model of the universe in microcosm! This-as with everything about Angkor Wat-is the same representation! And all these reliefs come from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata as well as the Bhagavad-Gita, which is absolutely extraordinary, if you think about it. Furthermore, as we move along, you'll also notice scenes from the life of Suryavarman II himself, who apparently decided to identify himself with Rama and Krishna, the incarnations of Vishnu, thus making himself out to be a Devaraja! You can just imagine what Jayavarman II thought about that, especially after defeating the Chams. Oh, and just up ahead, we'll see the famous relief that depicts the myth of cosmic renewal, also known as the Churning of the Sea of Milk!"

By then, Micah's eyes had acquired a familiar glassy sheen.

"Milk?"

"That's what he said."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Micah went on. "And who's Rama and what on earth is a Devaraja?"

"Do you want me to ask?"

"No," he said quickly. "Maybe if no one asks, he'll eventually move on." Micah paused for a moment before shaking his head. "I mean, does he really think we know all this stuff about Shiva?"

"Vishnu. He's talking to us about the God Vishnu."

"Whatever," he said. "My point is, I don't know any of this, I won't remember any of this. It's too much-I mean, the wall is ten feet high and goes all the way around the temple. It's over half a mile long. Architecturally, it's amazing, and I can see why it took decades to build it. But unless you live for this stuff, the carvings seem to run together."

"Relief carvings," I said. "Relief."

"Whatever."

Meanwhile, our lecturer was still talking on and on, growing even more excited.

"And notice outside the four sandstone heads atop the perimeter wall! Can you see them? We think those represent the Guardians of the Four Directions, or maybe even the Bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara!"

When we reached the center of Angkor Wat and stood at the base of the temple mount, the lecturer was in full swing.

"It's interesting to compare Mahayana and Theravada Buddhism, but for historical purposes, you might keep in mind the animism that was also prevalent in the early Khmer empire-for example, the belief in Neak Ta. Perhaps you noticed the serpent god Naga near the entrance?

This-"

"Excuse me?" Micah interrupted.

The lecturer paused. "Yes?"

Micah pointed to the temple-mountain. "Can we climb that thing?"

We spent the remaining hour exploring the ruins on our own. We climbed the steep, crumbling steps and wandered through the rocky corridors, posed for pictures, and surveyed Angkor Wat from the highest spots we could reach.

"I hope there's not a test on any of this," Micah said as we walked back down the causeway.

"I'd flunk."

"You and me both."

He paused. "Do you realize we've been gone for two weeks?"

"It doesn't seem like it." "It's kind of sad to think about it. I'd been dreaming about this trip for months, and we're already more than halfway through. It's going so fast."

"Dreams are funny like that," I said. "You want something so desperately, you somehow get it, then just as suddenly it's over. Like running races-all that training for a couple of minutes on the track. The secret, I've learned, is to appreciate the process."

"Are you getting philosophical on me?"

"No," I admitted. "I'm just talking to hear my head rattle."

"Good," he said. "I've had more than enough philosophy for one day."

We walked a little farther.

"Do you miss Christine?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "The kids, too. How about you?"

I nodded. "I've been missing them since I left."

Cat and I married in Manchester, New Hampshire, Cathy's hometown. In the previous six months, she'd had to make the arrangements from across the country. She'd gone home only twice; my bride-to-be, I was beginning to understand, was quite efficient when she needed to be.

We were married on July 22, 1989, in the Catholic church she'd grown up attending, and as she was led to the aisle by her father, I couldn't look away. Her eyes were luminous beneath her veil, and her hands were shaking slightly when I took them in my own. I barely remember the ceremony. The only moment that stands out in my mind was when I slipped the ring on her finger. The reception was also a blur, and we were both exhausted by the time we arrived in Hawaii for our honeymoon. The honeymoon had been a gift from Billy and Pat Mills, who had come to love Cathy as much as I did. Lisa, who'd long since found someone new in her life, jokingly began referring to me as "the ex-boyfriend that never went away."

Because the ceremony and reception had been held on the other side of the country, only a few of my friends had been able to make it. My mom, however, decided to throw a party in Sacramento in our honor. She decorated the backyard, made a cake, set out beer and food, and everyone I knew from childhood stopped by to congratulate us. The party went on for hours, and in some ways was more fun than the original reception. I had returned from honeymooning in Maui, owned two rental properties with Micah, had finished my second-albeit unpublished- novel. I was excited about a new business I was starting, and was deeply in love with my new wife. It was, I still think, one of the best evenings, and summers, I'd ever spent.

If possible, my mom was even more excited than we were. In the course of the evening, she'd mentioned that she was thinking about quitting her job in the near future. Now that we were out of college-and with my dad earning more than he ever had-there was no reason for her to keep heading into the office every day. She'd worked long enough, she said, and she wanted to spend her time enjoying the family and riding horses with my dad.